


Question and Answer

by ultharkitty



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:12:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the war, when they both worked for Onsaught, Blast Off spent a while hoping that Vortex would throw some of that free love in his direction.</p><p>Contains: mutual stalking, kissing, fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Question and Answer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naboru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naboru/gifts), [hellkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/gifts).



"You're quiet."

From anyone else, it would have been an insult. From Vortex, it was merely an observation. No, not merely - it was also a tactic, a way to break the ice, a reason to step a little closer.

Blast Off stood his ground. It wasn't greatly advantageous ground, being between the energon dispenser and the cube storage rack, but he'd seen Vortex make this kind of move on dozens of mechs, and he wasn't about to back down. After all, it was about time Vortex tried it on him.

"You always this quiet?"

As if he didn't know. But Blast Off simply tilted his head, acknowledging that something had been said without having to activate his own vocaliser. He was sure that anything he could think to say would turn out to be wrong.

Not that Vortex was easily put off. Thank Sigma. And there he was, gearing up to pounce. Blast Off observed the slight smirk, the glimmer of something promising in his visor; and now would come his next move, a gentle touch on the arm, a teasing flicker of his energy field. And in all likelihood they'd end up doing something utterly scandalous in the corridor, in full view of anyone who happened to pass by.

The thought of it sent a thrill through his circuits. But it wasn't just the physical gratification - which had, in his opinion, been far too long in coming - it was the thought of confounding expectations, of doing something uncharacteristic, shocking even. Being pursued and caught by Vortex would prove once and for all that he wasn't the untouchable, aloof prude that certain mechs painted him to be.

"I, uh..." Vortex paused, leaning against the dispenser. "Could I have a word, in private?"

Blast Off tensed. The pleasant anticipation evaporated, replaced with the hot embarrassment of having once again misjudged a situation. He'd been so sure the 'copter was stalking him. All the signals had been there: the lingering, assessing glances, the frequent coincidence of them being in the same place at the same time, the studied avoidance of his most recent conquests. But Blast Off was obviously mistaken. He hoped that he hadn't looked too eager. Or eager at all for that matter. Why did people have to be so difficult?

"What do you mean?" he said.

"We need to talk about the embassy job. Just not in public." Vortex' smirk had vanished, and his body language was un-confrontational - far from the predatory stance he usually took at this stage. Even his rotors were still.

"If you insist," Blast Off replied. Work, great. He managed to prevent a disappointed huff of his vents, and slid past the 'copter. Vortex wanted privacy, which meant he needed to pass on confidential information. Something must have gone wrong, and Onslaught had sent him out yet again to be the bearer of bad news. He certainly never sought privacy with his 'facing partners.

So, where to take him? Onslaught’s base was riddled with secret corners and lockable rooms, but it was also full of bystanders. Just walking down the hallway with Vortex in tow attracted far more glances than Blast Off was willing to put up with, considering the frustrating lack of a basis for the rumours that would inevitably arise.

He could cope with the whispers and the stares - could even cope with being labelled a frag toy - but only if he was going to get something out of it.

Which he obviously wasn't.

And he wasn't about to make a first move. Unwelcome suitors had a habit of ending up in the repair shop, or worse. He didn't particularly fancy being out of action for the better part of a meta-cycle, let alone explaining to Onslaught what he'd done to be put in that state.

All right, somewhere private. Why couldn't this be easier? At least if Vortex actually _was_ stalking him, the 'copter would have somewhere in mind. But he just followed on behind, oddly silent and completely professional.

"In here," Blast Off said. An office, lockable, relatively discrete. Windowless and dingy, but it got brighter as the room's sensors identified the two of them and adjusted illumination to suit. Vortex followed him in, glancing around. He probably didn't get to see much of the data-pushing operation, Blast Off thought, given his more active role in Onslaught’s schemes.

"This yours?" Vortex prodded the computer console, and the lighting dimmed. "What was that, fifteen percent? I told it thirty."

"Not mine." Blast Off responded to the first enquiry and ignored the second. Vortex was full of empty questions; they were never asked for their own sake, but for the sake of hinting at something else. It was yet another weapon in his admittedly impressive interpersonal arsenal. But one that was useless against Blast Off; he simply couldn't think of an appropriate response. Instead, he asked, "What happened with the embassy?"

Vortex glanced up. "Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just wanted an excuse to get you by yourself."

The words registered, but Blast Off couldn't quite take them in. He wasn't being stalked, he'd already worked that out. And yet... His innate pessimism refused to allow him to take this new data into consideration.

"You don't seem like an exhibitionist." Vortex gave him a quick glance, then typed a command into the console. "Thought you might want it to be just the two of us. You really are very impressive, you know that?"

The door locked with an audible click, and Blast Off almost jumped. No, he wasn't an exhibitionist, but still... As for impressive? Again, no, he didn't know that. In point of fact, Vortex appeared to be lying. This wasn't Vortex' usual seduction routine. Ergo, there was something else going on here. Something malicious. Blast Off recalled all the situations from the past few vorns where he'd done or said something that had rubbed someone up the wrong way. There were a depressingly large number of them, and all of them had some kind of connection to Vortex.

"Could be 'cause you're tall." Vortex gave him an appraising glance. "Nice shoulders, nicer hips."

Blast Off wondered what had possessed him to leave his armaments in the weapons locker. Rules or no rules, he really didn't want to be unarmed when Vortex was planning... whatever it was he was planning. Unpleasant things, certainly.

"Or maybe it's the mass shifting. I never understood that. Amazing to watch."

"It's not difficult." Blast Off replied automatically, then cringed. Wonderful; implicit insults are really going to help. "I.. I mean the theory, it's really very straightforward when... you..." he brought himself to a halt. Vortex was still looking at him, his lips parted as though he was about to speak. Blast Off tried not to notice that the 'copter was fully armed; obviously the moratorium on firearms in HQ didn't extend to him.

"I'm sure it is." The curious expression turned into a smirk. "Maybe you can explain it to me sometime."

But not now, Blast Off thought, that was one hint he _could_ decipher. He drew air through his vents, a constant calming stream. Best to keep quiet and ride it out. Whatever prank they have in store - and it's bound to be more than just _him_ \- Blast Off figured that it was better to let it happen and pick up the tattered remains of his dignity when it was all over.

"I really want to touch your wings."

"What? Why?" Blast Off's aft made contact with the door before he realised that he was backing away. Oh frag oh frag, maybe this was a seduction after all and he'd just blown his chances. But Vortex wasn't moving any closer. It probably _was_ a trap. A puerile one, most likely. Get him to confess what was probably an obvious infatuation, and then everyone could have a good laugh. They were probably filming him.

At least it was nothing more sinister.

Vortex shrugged. "Because they're attractive. _You're_ attractive. And they're not the only thing I want to touch."

Play along, Blast Off thought, just in case this isn't a trick. But he couldn't really let himself believe that. "You don't usually ask," he said. Again, not the most sensible thing to say.

It was met with soft laugh, a slight brightening of Vortex’ optics, the light diffused by his visor. "Hmm, thought you'd been paying attention... Didn't fancy having my arms ripped off. You've got a reputation."

 _That only happened the once!_ But Blast Off kept quiet. A reputation? He’d dismantled a neutral that one time, but it had been in self defence! He wasn't a military model; he didn't have the programming Vortex had, the combat protocols, the integrated weapons systems. All he had was what he'd learnt.

As for Vortex noticing that he'd been watching him? That was too embarrassing for words.

Vortex trailed his fingers down the side of the console. "So, can I touch you?" There was an edge of impatience to his voice, a hint that a failure to respond would be taken as 'yes', and a 'no' would be translated as an invitation to be convinced. "You can touch me."

"Um." Blast Off really didn't want to have to think about it. If, indeed, this really was what it looked like - and he truly hoped that it was. But in every simulation he'd run where Vortex finally decided to throw a little of that promiscuous temptation his way, the ‘copter had never once asked for his consent.

He had no idea what to do.

And Vortex walking over to him really wasn’t helping. Especially as he stopped just close enough so that Blast Off could hear the minute everyday sounds of his systems, but not quite close enough so that their energy fields overlapped.

Vortex smiled that predatory smirk of his. “What about if I say please?” But he wasn’t about to wait for an answer, and the sudden press of Vortex’ lips against his meant that Blast Off was in absolutely no position to give one. And it wasn’t just the press of his lips, or the wholly pleasant twist of his glossa, but the roaming pressure of his hands, skimming lightly over Blast Off’s armour, taking in his waist, his aft, his fuselage. He didn’t usually like to be touched while interfacing; it felt wrong, a little dirty, like organics mating. But he thought that, perhaps, just this once, it would be all right.

He remembered an astrosecond too late that this was meant to be reciprocal, but Vortex didn’t appear to have noticed. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Blast Off's intakes hitched as Vortex left off his exploration to grab his wrists and place his hands very firmly on that grey armour.

“You want me, don’t you?” Vortex whispered, each word vibrating through Blast Off’s lip components.

Blast Off gripped his hips, pulled him close. This time, he knew the answer.


End file.
